Critical Path (The Critical Series Book2) (5 page)

Layla had seen very few working on their own agency or have interests outside of their roles, but this Venrick had not only taken it upon herself to learn rudimentary English, but had the smarts to know when she faced certain death if she stayed in the battle.

Gregor and Denver would see that as a sign of weakness. She’d seen that when they looked at her, but for Layla, it told her that the aliens had more to them than even she first realized.

Other castes besides the council members had within them the ability to be individuals and work things out independently.

The way Venrick paced the small room while she waited for the others to prepare for their trek north told Layla that she was eager to help—perhaps a willingness to integrate. She’d obviously worked out that everyone, croatoan and human alike, would perhaps be better off if they helped each other.

Writing these notes down, Layla came to the conclusion she would keep this to herself for a while.

She knew she would meet resistance from the others, and with humanity starting to get organized and find a new way of living, she didn’t want to risk throwing a spanner in the works.

Least of all with Denver, who was desperate to find Charlie.

A tap on the door disturbed her from writing her final notes. She looked up as Maria opened the door and walked in.

“Hey, girl,” Layla said, pleased to see her friend.

“Hey,” Maria replied while casting an uneasy eye to Venrick. “Is she okay? She’s got a bit of an intense stare going on. Kind of creeps me out.”

“I think she’s fine. Adjusting to the situation and probably eager to get back out there. What’s up, the prep going okay?”

“Yeah, we’re nearly done. Denver’s doing a final ammo and comms check. Poor guy must be a mess of emotions after finding out his dad’s alive.”

“Pretty much. You look a bit nervous. Are you sure you want to come with us? You could stay back with Mike and the others.”

Maria came and sat down on the stool, her back to the alien, who had lost interest and returned to her pacing in the room.

“I want to come. I want to see more of the world, you know, see how it was before…” Maria shrugged. “Well, before I was born, or created by—them. Is it true the others and I are clones? That all the workers within the stasis units inside the harvesters were the same?”

Layla reached out for her, gripped her arm, and resisted the urge to pull her into a hug. Her face was so innocent and full of confusion. “It’s true, but that doesn’t change that you are you. Even if you are biologically similar to others, none of them are you; none of them are Maria.”

“I suppose so, but how much of me is really me? I mean, am I just a product of the croatoans’ biological experiments? Is my mind really mine or one they designed to be a good, unquestioning worker?”

Although Layla did suspect the alien biologists to have altered the minds of the clones in much the same way they did for their workers, she had learned enough about Maria and now Venrick to know that any cellular manipulation wasn’t finite.

It could be changed through free will.

“No, your mind is all yours,” Layla said despite not being completely sure just how much. Either way it didn’t matter. Layla and the heads of the other farms had agreed to not let any clones still within stasis mix with one another. It just wouldn’t be worth the confusion and fear it would generate.

So each farm now had a bizarre situation in that each one with a recovered harvester had their own Erika, Ben, Ethan, and Maria, amongst the others.

“Do you trust her?” Maria asked, nodding to Venrick. “What if she’s leading us into a trap? What if that video was faked like the ones they showed on the harvester to make us believe we were on a generation ship? What if Charlie really is dead?”

“There’s only one way to find out. Come on, we should get going. Denver’s already tense. I want to keep him focused and on the job.”

“That might be easier said than done,” Maria added with a sigh. “Gregor’s already throwing his weight around with Den and Khan about who should lead the expedition. I’d be more comfortable if he stayed behind.”

“We all would, but sometimes we need people like him.”

“Maybe,” Maria said, standing up and turning away. Her shoulders tensed.

“What is it?” Layla said, recognizing she had something to get off her chest. She joined Maria and placed her arm around her shoulders. “Has something happened?”

“Not yet,” Maria said, turning to face Layla. “But this morning, I woke with him in my bed. He said that back before the uprising that people like him were responsible for bringing adulthood to people like me.”

A surge of anger flowed through Layla. That bastard! “No,” she said forcibly, making Maria step back a few inches. “Don’t you ever let him touch you if you don’t want him to. That goes for anyone, in fact. He’s a damned liar. Trust nothing he says, you hear me?”

With wide eyes, Maria nodded. “I do… thanks, Layla. Don’t leave me with him, will you?”

Hugging her close, Layla forced away the images she had conjured of what she would do to Gregor if ever… “No, girl, I won’t. But keep this on you at all times, even when you’re sleeping.”

Layla handed her a small Taser she and Mike had developed from the high-capacity battery cells from the harvesters. “One blast of that in the right place will do the job.”

Maria pocketed the palm-sized black device and smiled, no doubt the thought of zapping Gregor bringing her happy thoughts. “Come on, let’s go meet the others. It’s time to find out if Venrick is telling the truth.”

CHAPTER SIX

Charlie gritted his teeth and yanked down on the chain attached to his rusty manacles. Specks of mortar dropped in his eyes as the links pulled rigid. It wasn’t coming loose. He decided instead to conserve his energy for the arena and leaned against the cold stone wall and thought about what Augustus had in store for him.

The Roman had mentioned something about a special surprise.

It certainly wasn’t going to be anything good, that’s for sure.

His cellmate, a small croatoan wearing a standard alien dark gray uniform, hung from manacles on the opposite wall. Its legs were too short to reach the dirt floor. It had desperately grunted, clicked and kicked its skinny legs for the past two hours, but now it had given up and dangled limply, letting out a quiet, desperate keening noise.

A key rattled in the cell door’s lock. A bolt screeched across its latch outside. The croatoan raised its helmet. Charlie tensed.

The thick wooden door creaked open and Augustus strode in, flanked by two men dressed in faded blue jeans and brown leather jackets. Both held rifles. Augustus pointed to the alien. “This one’s first. Take it down and get it ready.”

One of the men slung his rifle and pulled out a wrench while the other provided cover, aiming his weapon at the alien. The guard unscrewed the croatoan’s left manacle. It aimed a weak kick. The man punched it in the stomach.

“Save it for outside. You’re going to need everything you’ve got,” the other guard said with a sneer.

The alien wheezed and shook. It dropped to its feet and scampered into a corner after its right wrist was freed. Both men grabbed an arm each and dragged it out of the cell.

Augustus turned to Charlie and placed his hand in a flap down the side of his purple robe, briefly fumbled and produced a dried piece of root. “This might help you. Your only way out of here is to keep winning.”

Charlie turned his head and looked away. “Fuck you. Like I’m going to accept your help after all this. You take me for a fool? Have you learned nothing about humanity in your time?”

Augustus just shrugged as a faint buzz echoed along the corridor: the noise of a crowd, hundreds of chanting voices. Charlie only saw the outside of the arena when being led at gunpoint from Augustus’ ludus to the attached cells. A four-yard-high stone wall surrounded the fighting area with staircases cut in at regular intervals.

An escape plan would have to be winged—if it were at all possible.

Augustus reached forward and pressed the root into Charlie’s hand. “Hate me all you want; the feeling is mutual. But you need to make the crowd love you. They don’t possess the logic of you or me. Most were born in Unity, and this is a normal state of affairs.”

Charlie refused to give Augustus the satisfaction of conversation and gazed at a cockroach scuttling across the floor. He expected the decrepit old fool to strike him, but no blows came.

“Have it your way,” Augustus said. Outside, the crowd roared. “I’m guessing the croatoan didn’t last long. They’ll be coming for you in a minute. Time to show what you’re capable of, little wasp.”

Augustus disappeared from Charlie’s peripheral vision. The cell door slammed shut.

Shifting his manacles up, he stuffed the piece of root into his mouth and chewed. It had the texture of beef jerky, but the effects were as immediate as eating it fresh, like the sudden adrenaline rush of white-water rafting or that moment when you go over the edge while abseiling.

The cell door opened again. A blond-haired man crouched in the corridor and aimed his rifle at Charlie. The other entered and started unscrewing his right manacle. “You try any bullshit and your brains will be decorating the wall. Got it?”

Charlie ignored him, just stared right into his eyes, trying to get the measure of the man, but the other wouldn’t hold his gaze and unfastened the left manacle. He stepped back and gestured toward the corridor. “Move, grandpa. Unless you want to be dragged out like that freak?”

Charlie rubbed his wrists and eyed both men. Emotionless faces. Born and raised as traitors—perfect underlings for the likes of Augustus. He didn’t want anyone around who would think for themselves. It made his stomach turn. “One day I’ll come back for both of you,” he said, pointing at the two men. “You’re a disgrace to humanity.”

The man crouching outside laughed. He jerked his rifle to the left, gesturing along the corridor. “You won’t even see the night. Get moving, fuck-face.”

Charlie shook his head and left his cell, heading toward the light streaming through a low-barred one-meter-tall gate at the end. He felt nimble on his feet. The full invigorating effect of the root had taken hold.

The footsteps behind didn’t get too close.

No chance to take them by surprise. They knew what they were doing.

The noise of the crowd grew louder. Men and women catcalled, croatoans clicked and many spoke in English too. Five meters from the gate, the sandy surface of the fighting arena stretched out, parts of it stained with blood.

He passed a stack of four crudely assembled plywood coffins. One of the men said, “That’s going to be your bed… forever, old man.”

Just before the gate, a number of weapons hung on a wooden rack: short swords, a mace, three battered metal shields. Charlie stooped and looked through the gate’s bars. A shirtless man stood over the little croatoan. He looked upwards for a moment before smashing his mace through the alien’s visor.

The crowd roared with approval and delight. Two more croatoans appeared shortly after with a stretcher and carried the dead remains of the little one away. It didn’t stand a chance. Were Charlie’s odds going to be as short?

“These are your weapons,” the closest man said.

He threw a trident and net at Charlie’s feet.

“You’ve got to be kidding me?” Charlie said.

The man snorted. “Does it look like I am? You don’t get to choose.”

Charlie picked up the trident. It had a wooden pole, three barbed prongs, and felt lighter than it looked. The net had weights around its edge. He remembered seeing films of gladiators waving it around their head, and dismissed trying the technique. Without experience, the thing might prove cumbersome. Charlie wanted to be quick on his feet if he faced the brute he’d seen behind Aimee.

A disheveled woman ducked in front of the gate, twisted a key in the lock, and pulled it open. “Out you come. Just walk to the center and turn to face the dignitaries. Try anything and the armed guards will take you down before you can take a breath.”

“Nice setup you have here.” Charlie didn’t move. The situation seemed bizarre. A foot thrust into the small of his back, and he stumbled into a running crouch and stood in bright sunshine at the edge of the arena.

The gate locked behind him, trapping him inside.

A couple of coughs punctuated the silence inside the arena.

The acre-sized surface was soft under his boots. Dark yellow and purple stains of battle were all over the sand. He wondered how many fights had taken place. Human and croatoan blood spattered the high concrete wall that enclosed the fighting area. On top of the wall, spectators stood on four steps that ran around the full perimeter. The two species mixed together. Although the aliens outnumbered the humans by a ratio of around four to one.

There were only two entrances: his and a larger gate at the opposite end. Winning would be his only way out, he realized. He walked to the middle of the arena and turned to face Aimee. She sat beneath a veranda, probably salvaged from an old house in the local area. She wore a blue dress and wafted a fan in front of her face. Augustus perched to her left; he adjusted his mask and leaned forward. Two other people he didn’t recognize sat either side of them.

Augustus stood and raised an arm. “People of Unity. This is today’s main event. The man standing before you brought down the two croatoan ships, single-handedly. He might look like a pathetic old man, but don’t let his appearance deceive you.”

Raised chatter and clicking filled the arena. A half-eaten apple bounced past Charlie’s feet. Augustus held his finger to his lips and waited for silence. He pointed down. “This man is a threat to Unity. Our Unity. His judgment will come today. I introduce to you, the doom bringer!”

A few people shouted insults, drowning each other out.

Aimee sat expressionless through the Roman’s speech. After Augustus sat down, she leaned over and whispered something to him. He stood again and said, “Please welcome Halkstan. The champion of Unity.”

Charlie heard the gate behind him creak open. He spun to see a large croatoan, dressed in a faded uniform repaired in places with thick stitches, duck out of the gap. Its sword glinted in the sun. At least a meter and a half long, serrated on one side and featuring hollow circles running down the middle. A standard-issue croatoan hunter weapon.